


Home for Dinner

by Dragonlings



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Family, Other, reference to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonlings/pseuds/Dragonlings
Summary: In which a former Antivan Crow takes a brave leap into the humble, loving world of the Tabris family (ft. nonspecific Tabris warden).
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Kudos: 13





	Home for Dinner

Their confession takes place beneath the Vhenadahl; a massive, somewhat shabby tree, still the most stunning part of a slum which reeks of unmoved sewage and whose hodgepodge homes are barely holding together at the seams. Not the most traditionally romantic setting, but that doesn't matter, because it’s the Grey Warden’s home and they’ve yearned to be back on familiar ground since they left it. Zevran knows this well.

Giving that earring is a surprisingly hard thing to do, coming from someone who braved the Deep Roads in a heartbeat. He offers to share his path in life with this wonderful person, and in doing so give himself a future of his own choosing. It is a careful and cautious move, but a brave one, to finally belong somewhere he wishes to be.

The Warden accepts the proposal without hesitation. They grab him by the hands, kiss him, and when that thrilling and terrifying moment is over they gasp and smile and their whole face lights up in delight.

This is when they invite him home for dinner.

Their other companions stayed a while, but very politely declined a bowl of stew and returned to Eamon’s estate before sundown. Zevran had been ready to leave with them, so not to impose. He accepted a tour of the Alienage from the Warden, and now they are leading him back through the door, announcing to their family that extra seating arrangements must be made. The entire Tabris household responds at once, shifting the chairs to make a welcoming space for the newcomer.

Zevran is given proper introduction- naturally, the Warden is a little flustered and nervous as they announce him as more than just a friend and ally. Shianni makes a cheeky joke while throwing her arms around both of them, and Soris rolls his eyes but grins, apparently not surprised by his cousin’s choice of partner (“of _COURSE_ you couldn’t just marry any old trader. Professional assassin, now that sounds about right.”)

Cyrion Tabris seems stunned at first, but the moment passes with an accepting smile. This takes the Warden by surprise. It seems that in their time apart, Cyrion has grown a little wiser. Perhaps this is not the kind of partner he thought best for his only child, but any ideal future he had in mind was denied the moment Duncan conscripted them, and the least they deserve after that is the chance to find their own happiness amidst the chaos. Having almost lost his own freedom, at least what freedom elves of the Alienage have, he is starting to acknowledge the benefit of choice more than ever.

The way they laugh and joke and tell stories is strangely familiar, but equally alien. Zevran recalls being in much larger rooms, also packed full of more people than they were designed to contain. Some were cheap tavern spaces, stinking of alcohol and the sweat of thugs; others fairly luxurious, with fine wines and wenches. But the same was true of both- that the laughter came from cold places, from people who made their lives around crime and murder. People who found humour in hurt, because hurt and hurting were all they had ever known, and the only fleeting emotional connections they could make in these open spaces were cruel statements exchanged with those who knew only the same.

And this household is so, so different, because the laughter is born of love and warmth. These people light up every time they so much as look at their Warden, barely able to believe that their long-lost family member is truly alive and well, when for almost a year they have accepted them as another family death. The Warden looks at them with the same glow, thrilled just to be here in their presence. It makes Zevran realise how truly diluted his Warden has been at camp, where they gather together their mish-mash of companions each night for drinks and stories in the hopes of replacing the family bonds they lost.

At first, it makes him feel strikingly outcast. There is much loyalty (maybe even love) in the camp, most of it directed at the Warden; less so between the companions themselves, when some cannot stand each other outright, but they hold together because their Warden cares for them and they return the dedication. Zevran knows and accepts this. He knows the others may not fully trust him even now, but it is acknowledged all-around that there are multiple threads of mistrust, and they go unspoken for the Warden’s sake.

The trust within this family is unparalleled. Aside from the Warden, the last time he trusted someone this much was… Rinna and Taliesen, perhaps, in a better and more optimistic time. Mistrust is the very reason both now lie dead. To have shared this with the Warden is a leap enough, but sitting at this table, on the turf of this family unit, is like being thrown into the deep end.

The last thing he wants is for them to think badly of him, lest he lose the most important thing he’s ever gained. Because if it came down to it, he knows the order of importance: despite those promises of a future, the Warden would never give up all this familial love before him. How could they?

So he is careful. Usually the easiest to converse, one who jokes and flirts and tells theatrical stories of his exploits, Zevran actively makes an effort to hold his tongue. He’s used to choosing his words carefully, to telling some stories and burying others, but this is different because for once in his life he genuinely wants these people to see him in a light he’s not used to being seen in.

A few times he slips up, and lets out a statement more macabre than he intended, because he will leave a moment too silent and instinctively fill it with his usual sense of humour. Mostly, it goes unnoticed. Once or twice, he gets horrified (sympathetic?) looks from the rest of the family. The Warden laughs along with him when he cracks jokes about poisoned nobles, and when she’s had a couple of drinks, Shianni heartily joins in.

It is like being a recruit again, knowing that one error of judgement will come with a mighty strike. Perhaps not a physical one this time, but he can take the beatings; the rejection will hurt more. But he slips up, and there is no punishment. If one line of dialogue is met with strange looks, the next is met with genuine, easy laughter. Slowly, he settles into his seat, tuning in to the family’s own sense of wit, which- as it turns out- can be almost as dark. Not quite so much as his, but he recognises quickly that they are hurt people too, and that often breeds this kind of humour. In that sense, they are very similar to the Warden, and he isn’t sure why he was ever worried that it wouldn’t be the case.

Dinner is finished, most of the wine is drunk, and night has long since set in over the walls of Denerim. Zevran slips outside for air, and Shianni follows a moment later. She’s a bit more than tipsy, clearly not able to hide her curiosity, so Zevran humours it. They talk a little about their histories- not more than either is willing to divulge at this point- but the hints in their dialogue unveil far more than they want to express openly. They share a moment of survivor’s empathy- something more powerful than pity, or sympathy- as each reads the others’ face and _understands_ the hurt. It is a brief connection, but one deeper than Zevran is used to, and he thrives on it.

At some point during the night, Cyrion turns to his child and chuckles. “You know, I always told Valendrian that you’d either marry another Adaia, or become one. Somehow you’ve managed to impress us all by doing both.” What Zevran cannot understand is the true meaning behind those words, a meaning only understood by this family who grew up with Adaia Tabris, loved her, and knew what a truly glorious person she was. The Warden takes this statement as an honour both on their own behalf and Zevran’s.

The family begins to reminisce, recalling Adaia’s winning charm and humour, and how easily she slotted into the Tabris bunch, with their reputation as troublemakers and upstarts. How her calls for rebellion inspired Shianni, and her skill with the blade is one to which the Warden owes their life- and by now, the lives of countless others- many times over. How she went through so many abuses in her lifetime, but stayed strong so her family wouldn’t be further hurt. How she craved adventure and would have made a wonderful Grey Warden, but her love and loyalty to her husband and child overwhelmed any notions she had of leaving. She sounds like a woman Zevran would like to meet. He would like it almost as much as the Warden would love to introduce them.

They could stay up all night sharing stories, but it has been a long day for them all, especially for Cyrion. Nearly being shipped off into slavery is yet another brushed-aside pain he intends to sleep off before getting back into routine tomorrow. It is obvious that the Warden will not leave tonight; come morning, they will have to return to their duties, but tonight not even the hordes of Darkspawn can tear them away from this shabby little shack they call home.

On assumption, Zevran quietly prepares to exit, but the family has already begun arranging themselves to fit him in. Cyrion is in the lower bunk of a bunk bed, the one which used to belong to his child. Soris is above him, having taken Shianni’s place on the top. Shianni is contentedly snuggled up to the “oversized, wrinkly potato” of a mabari hound that never leaves the Warden’s side. The Warden gives his head a firm rub and makes him promise to look after their cousin, to which the loyal dog responds with a proud huff.

And that leaves a bed with enough space for two. The family doesn’t push, but the offer is extended to him- “you can stay the night, if you want”. Part of him wants to just leave, but he has already done a brave thing today and stopped running away from his feelings towards the Warden. He handed over that earring. What is a night in their house?

The space is tight, and some of the family members snore (not least the dog). It is like being a child again, in one of the warehouses the Crows packed their recruits into, seeking some vague sense of comfort in the presence of the other children. A rare moment of fond nostalgia for him.

As he lies on the mattress, is is uneven and scratchy. It matters not, because the Warden lies beside him. Shianni and the dog are curled up at the foot of the bed. His future father-in-law (now _that’s_ a statement that doesn’t feel real yet) murmurs a goodnight to the whole family- Zevran included- before pulling up his covers and beginning to drift off.

In this moment, Zevran fully understands the choices he has made today. Not just to stay with the Warden, but to be invited into their life and family. To become one of these hurt but loving Tabris rebels with their bright smiles and hidden scars and unconditional trust for one another. It is even more frightening than the proposal beneath the Vhenadahl, but the comfort in knowing he belongs and is safe here is better than he could ever have imagined.


End file.
